


Erase Me from the Narrative

by orphan_account



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Coming Out, M/M, Pining, sidney crosby is officially the world’s greatest wingman end of story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 14:20:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13953408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Now all PK can do is lay in his room, fall asleep, dream of him, wake up, and do nothing about it.





	Erase Me from the Narrative

**Author's Note:**

> finally showing some love to my canadiens <<33
> 
> PK is still a hab shhh
> 
> enjoy!! :)))

It’s like the second PK steps foot into that locker room and meets eyes with Carey they know they’re gonna get along just fucking fine. 

PK knows Carey and he knows that smile on his face. That sweet-like-honey, toothy, adorable smile he flashes carelessly, but when he does it now he looks like he really means it. He’s got this welcoming look on his face and his hair’s sticking up in every direction possible. PK feels his chest swell. 

Okay, so this is what he’s dealing with here. No, that‘s completely fine. 

They break eye contact because a guy — no, wait — a /teammate/ (he’s still getting used to this) claps him over the shoulder. PK grinned wide as he was welcome to the team by him — “Just call me Pleky,” he’d said — but, he already knows full well who Tomas goddamn Plekanec is. PK is arguably the biggest Habs fan alive, well, maybe right next to his Dad.

One of the other rookies, Max, gets a tad more attention than him that day, just a little bit. But Carey gives PK enough to make up for the rest of the team. Especially after that show he’d put on at the draft, yeah, Max definitely deserves some of the spotlight — getting chosen first round and all. Carey gives him the attention he deserves too, but his driving focus is towards PK and he can’t help but feel awe-struck that this star-studded goaltender wants to talk to him. 

This really is gonna go just fine. 

He really almost loses it when he meets Saku Koivu. Carey chuckles at him when he “introduces” them but really, no introduction is necessary. Not when PK’s just about ready to explode with the excitement gushing rapidly through his veins. They shake hands and holy fuck, it’s a dream come true.

They’re teammates now, too. It can’t get any better than this. 

Not until they actually get on the ice. PK’s feeling himself as they run drills, he cannot stop smiling and it’s definitely contagious because he can see some of the other guy’s returning his grins. Even Carey, who was practically glowing seeing PK so happy. He caught himself reminiscing about his own rookie year and let a goal slip in past him, courtesy of a bubbly PK. 

“Head in the clouds, Pricer?” He teases as he curls around the back of the net.

Carey scoffs. “Just got something in my eye. Can’t see much. Not when you’re beaming like the fucking sun.” 

He swats the puck out of the net and PK shrugs, tapping his stick lightly against his pads. “Get used to it, I’m not going anywhere.” 

“I’ll hope for it,” he returns with a smile, watching him as he skates off towards the other side of the rink.

Carey was definitely top 10 on his list of the greatest guys he’s ever played with. 

After his first practice he gets an awkwardly delivered invitation to lunch from Carey, but PK waves off the lack of confidence from him and accepts it. Not because he’d literally been waiting for him to invite him all practice — but because he promised pizza. Yeah, that was it.

So, they evolve from there, it seems.

PK and Carey are tight like glue early on; practically inseparable. PK likes to credit himself on his ability to nit-pick the guys he should keep closer than others but it’s not really him that started their friendship either. Or maybe it was. It’s hard to decide. They leave that detail out of the equation. It doesn’t really matter because team chemistry is at an all-time high and PK knows what he wants.

He wants to win that fucking cup and bring it home to Toronto.

* * *

They’re in the Eastern conference’s first seat that year and it’s unbelievable.

Unfortunately, they just barely edge past the Bruins in game seven to make it to the second round where they face off against the Flyers. It’s not fun.

The Flyers dismantle them. It’s almost a clean sweep; game five and they’re eliminated.

Next year, PK guesses. Carey agrees with him — next year is Montreal’s year. It’s /their/ year.

* * *

Jacques is venting at the team, just like all his other preface speeches.

Everyone’s bored, his words take no prisoners.

“You mean to tell me you’ve never tried bacon ice cream?” PK whispers back to Carey, a look of disbelief on his features but it’s really not all that justified. 

He rolls his eyes, “Uh, yeah, I’m trying to live a long healthy life, you know what I mean?” His voice is just as low as PK’s, just so Jacques doesn’t catch them talking about things completely unrelated in the back. 

PK touches a hand to his chest like he’s genuinely offended and Carey rolls his eyes. “I will literally drive you to an ice cream place after this,” he subtly gestures at the room, “bullshit.”

“Dude, name one ice cream place with bacon ice cream.” Carey gives him a skeptical sidelong glance as he tries to fake paying attention to Jacques. He can’t see him, but he knows PK’s got his ‘thinking face’ on. That look — narrowed eyes, thinned lips, scrunched brows, Carey turns his head. Yeah, he has it on. He tries not to chuckle but fails miserably, the noise coming out as a strangled breath. PK almost lost it right there.

“Shut up, dude,” he warns jokingly through clenched teeth. “I’m not used to Montreal.”

“Still?”

“Shut it. I’ll take you to one in Toronto.” 

Carey grins, flashing that same smile he always does. “You’d take me to Toronto for tacky ice cream? You planning on introducing me to your parents too?”

“That can wait for now. I don’t wanna overwhelm you,” PK chuckles and they both turn back towards Jacques after one particularly flamboyant motion towards the poorly drawn play on the white board.

PK really wants to take Carey to Toronto. 

* * *

They hang out a lot that summer. Like, a lot. PK practically lives at Carey’s place at this point. The first time his family meets him, they show him inconceivable affection and Carey has to beg them to lay off before PK’s heart melts. But, PK loves it. He no longer lives with his family and it feels good to be so close to one, even if it’s the Prices and they’re nearly nothing like his own family. It’s still a memorable experience.

“I’m so sorry,” Carey apologizes, just like he always does when Lynda pinches PK’s cheeks.

He gets a laugh in return and PK assures him it’s no big deal. 

Both of them realize soon enough that they have something pretty fucking great. Best friends, it sounds really good on PK’s tongue and even better on Carey’s. They act like dumb teenagers, they are, but it never really feels like it. They have water gun fights and spend late nights watching Netflix — and not the good stuff either. It’s mainly the things just begging to be critiqued that they watch, just for the fun of it.

PK entertains himself when the movie gets too boring by letting his gaze settle on Carey for maybe a couple seconds too long. He doesn’t really notice, or he acts like he doesn’t notice. PK hopes it’s the former, but he has fun with it anyways. Even though he’d leave himself itching to card his fingers through Carey’s fluffy hair, or squeeze his sculpted shoulders, or maybe shift lower to—

No. Not that. Definitely not that.

He lets his eyes flit back to the movie and Carey asks him if he’s okay when he coughs awkwardly. 

He’s not sure if he’s ever realized how fucking gorgeous Carey is before then. Well, it‘s not important, but he‘s probably one of the best looking guys he’s ever laid on. Goddamn, that was hard to get over. 

“I need to go to the bathroom.”

That was PK’s own code for ‘I need to go get my shit together before I literally pin you down to the couch and get into way too much trouble with you.’ 

It works most of the time. The other times Carey gets skeptical. “You just went, You good?”

“Nevermind,” he would reply hesitantly. 

Carey definitely has him wrapped around his finger, he has to admit it. 

PK has a thing for goalies, anyways.

* * *

Max doesn’t get along with PK, not very well. They’re usually fixed on some stupid thing they’re arguing about. It’s usually related to what goes on on the ice, but could’t they /discuss/ it instead of arguing? Carey hates seeing it happen. His coping tactic is to inhale, convince himself they’re joking, then exhale, and everything would be all right.

It makes no sense to anyone else. Yeah, sure, teammates occasionally lose it on each other. But Max and PK’s quarrels are reoccurring. Especially the occasional physical altercations that take place at practices. Those are the worst to watch.

The team chemistry takes a hit with both of them constantly bickering, it doesn’t emit the greatest energy. They don’t hate each other, that‘s blatant. PK just wants him to shut his trap before he hits him even harder. 

PK’s a good sport. Carey just doesn’t understand why they can’t get along. He’ll grow out of it, he knows he will.

* * *

Flash forward to 2013 and they still don’t have a cup. PK’s loving the rookie, Alex — who says he’s American but has a thick ass Russian accent — and takes a critical note of his ogling at Brendan. They call them the Gallys and it’s like a favour because it gets them close enough that Alex looks content. Well, they really clicked from the start. Brendan’s always loud and in his face and Alex sorta just deals with it.

“I know you love me, Chucky.” Brendan hums, playfully punching Alex in the shoulder, who nearly topples over entirely.

Alex grunts, faking a glare at Brendan. He knows he shouldn’t have done it, because he’s instantaneously grabbed a hold of with his hair getting mussed by him. He’s flailing in Brendan’s arms, attempting to free himself from the headlock.

“No use, buddy, got guns of fucking steel.”

Alex stills and cranes his neck to look up at him. “So, I’m being assaulted by a midget. Okay. Can I request a trade?”

Laughter bubbled out past Brendan’s lips as he let Alex go. “We do not talk about my height in this locker room,” he cautioned, feigning a stoic expression. Alex raised his hands defensively, a wide grin still on his features.

“Was that really us 6 years ago?” PK’s silently cringing, turning to look at Carey with a look of regret etched into his features.

“No way,” he jibbed, “we were much more sophisticated.” 

“You sure ‘bout that, big guy?” PK guffawed, his hand tousling Carey’s hair the second he stops talking. 

He doesn’t wanna admit it, but it feels perfect. Silky hair dancing through his fingers, he can’t confess the amount of times he’s yearned for this. He pulls his hand back, a wide grin on his face as Carey desperately pats down his hair. 

“I forgot you were 5,” he nudges him, flinching slightly as Brendan yells something about little people empowerment in the background.

“And you’re so into it.” PK clicks his tongue as Carey purses his lips doubtfully. “Aw, don’t give me that look after everything we’ve been through.”

2013 is also the year Therrien gets around to satisfying his monster craving of getting rid of everything even remotely fun by banning the triple low five. It‘s a harmless handshake, just a celebratory symbol for PK and Carey’s enthusiasm over victories. He‘s just so fucking butthurt over it, it pisses them both off. While Carey never really shows it, PK makes sure to wear his frustration with the situation whenever he could. Therrien just has to deal with him. 

PK remembers vividly the blank looks they gave each other after receiving news that a goddamn /handshake/ had been banned. It was indescribably petty of Therrien to do. But he just gets a kick bugging PK, ever since his pre-coaching days and everything. An asshole from birth, PK calls him. Carey doesn’t mind it, because he silently agrees.

* * *

Sochi is incredible. Hanging with the rest of the team Canada guys is incredible, playing hockey in Russia is incredible, winning gold is /incredible/. PK doesn’t wanna admit it, but he sort of expected it. 

They’re all in a bar after the closing ceremony, getting wasted off their asses and PK lets some things slip. Not to anyone important, just Sidney fucking Crosby — no big deal. He learns to trust his heart and soul with Sid, but maybe there‘s something lost in translation between his sober self and his drunken self.

“You know what?” PK slurs, leaning up against Sid. The contrast between their levels of intoxication is clear. While Sid has just barely touched his drink, he’s pretty sure PK‘s been skinny dipping in a barrel of liquor. 

“Yeah?” He nods at him.

“We did so good, like so good, dude. We killed it out there. Like. Killed it out there.” PK’s words are strung together and sloppy and Sid has to strain to make out what he’s trying to say, but he gets the gist of it.

“Didn’t we?” He grins. “Nobody had shit on us.”

“And we were so good in net, for real,” PK’s eyes travel to Carey, he’s pretty much a blur to him but he can see him chatting with some other guy whose enthusiastically talking with his hands. “Wow.”

Sid agrees with PK’s previous comment but he doesn’t voice it, instead tries following his gaze. “What?”

PK snorts, taking in another draught from his glass of beer. “You know what?” He repeats, even more sloppily this time.

“No, I don’t know what,” Sid responds, rightfully irked with how difficult it is to converse with this kid.

“Carey Price is a fucking snack.”

Sid blinks at him slowly, opening his mouth to say something before getting cut off.

“Look at him, Sid. He’s got everything, perfect 10 — everywhere,” PK effuses. Sid’s still not sure what to say.

“I... what?” Sid put his hand on his shoulder. “PK, buddy, you feeling alright?”

“Legs for days,” he gushes, pressing his face against the cool countertop. “So pretty, literally just, how.”

“Wait, so, you’re into him like that?” 

“No, but I know you’re tryna go down on Lemieux,” he snorts, accidentally thumping his head hard against the counter. 

Sid narrows his eyes at him. That wasn’t — that’s not true. “You’re changing the subject on me.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Are you gonna ask him out?”

“Like, on a date?” He’s definitely not sober enough to think critically about the situation. “Bro, how fucking old are you— wait. Ask who out?”

“Carey.”

“Ooh, I see pretty colours.”

It doesn’t take much more questioning from Sid before PK changes the topic entirely and he just can’t seem to get back on it. It’s not like Sid needs any strenuous lengths of clarification anyways. He knows now,

PK Subban is hot for Carey Price

* * *

”I think a fun honey moon could be taking over Poland together.” Sid grins down at him and PK groans loudly, burying his face in his pillow.

“Can we please not talk about this, please,” he rasps. His head is throbbing and he could kill a man for some Advil. Well, maybe not, but he’d consider it. There’s a burning sensation in his face, too, he concludes that that’s from the unlawful mortification.

“So, you’re serious about this?”

PK finally sits himself up and he sends a glower in Sid’s direction. Or in his vague direction, he’s just faintly seeing double. “No, fuck, it’s just a crush. Leave it alone. He’s just really good on ice.” _And extremely good-looking, hardcore boyfriend material, super sweet, and the greatest best-friend anyone could ever hope for._ PK’s not dumb enough to voice his true opinions about Carey. Especially not to Sid.

“Young love...” 

“Dude, if you ever — and I mean /ever/ — tell anyone, I will personally chop your balls off and crucify them.” 

Sid snorts, his laughter breaking free past his lips and PK can’t hold off his fit either, not until Sid starts talking again. “I bet you wanna chop off Pricer’s balls.”

“Actually, shut the fuck up.”

* * *

PK makes an incredible save, bailing Carey out of letting a cheap goal in. It’s mind-boggling how the shot had landed _thwack_ right on the tape of PK’s stick as he swatted away the potential goal. No, the /bonafide/ goal that would’ve gone in no matter what if he hadn’t been there. 

Carey gave him a fist bump and the strongest hug imaginable on ice, but now they were off the ice. And the way his muscles flexed around PK was far more thanks than he thought he deserved.

“You’re amazing, the honest-to-god greatest, the best—“

“Right?”

“The best friend,” Carey finishes, “Cocky little shit.” He’s holding PK close, arms wrapped tightly around him as he tries to literally squeeze the air out of him. 

“We still lost, you realize that, right?” PK frowns, only a faint trail of sadness ringing in his voice. Because he knows full well how extraordinary that save was. Even if Benoit ended up scoring the game-winner in the final minutes.

“Dude, does it look like I care? We— you won tonight. Like, fucking fuck the Oilers, I’m not seeing their d-men making effortless ass stick-saves.” He pulls PK back and it’s then — if it hadn’t before now, getting badgered with compliments and all — that PK’s heart stops. 

Carey looks so fucking happy, happier than he’d seen him since Sochi. It’s heart-warming and refreshing and it makes everything so much more worth it. The perfect picture of gratitude was laid out before his eyes and all he wants to do is hold it — him — forever.

“How do we celebrate this? We can do whatever, literally anything. Your choice, man,” Carey offers.

Pk debates on what to say. _I wanna take you back to my room, pin you down, and—_ he swallows hard. Maybe that wasn’t the best option. Carey looks at him with wonder in his eyes and PK knows he has to answer /now/ to keep this from getting weird.

“Pizza. Let’s, uh, let’s get pizza.”

Brendan bursts in through the locker room door, head turned to speak to whoever it was waiting for him in the hallway. “Yeah, I just forgot my—“ he blinked at PK and Carey. “Oh, jeez. Am I interrupting something?” 

PK flips him off. “Tell me why Brendan Galchenyuk’s in here ruining our moment.”

“Fuck you, man,” he retaliates, “stepping all over the Gallagher name like that.”

“If anything he’s putting the Galchenyuk name to shame,” Carey adds, a mocking grin on his features. The moment is definitely gone.

“Aw, not you too dude.”

Alex peeks in past Brendan. “He’s not lying.”

PK’s eyebrows shot up towards his hairline, a sound of amusement passing his lips. “Would you look at that, we got both thing one and thing two in here.”

Carey and PK go for pizza and PK remembers why he loves going for pizza with him.

* * *

Carey‘s sure he’s never seen PK cry — he didn’t know it was possible for him to cry. Bubbly, cheerful, PK didn’t fucking cry.

But, that changes so fast it was uncanny. 

He knows he’s trying hard to hold it in. But he’s in Carey’s arms now and it’s hard not to let the tears flow. His shoulders are quivering and Carey wants to hold himself back, stay strong for PK, so he presses his cheek onto the top of his head and lets positive thoughts wipe away the tears. No matter how broken he really is.

PK’s getting traded.

Fuck. It feels like a nightmare.

“I knew this would happen,” he rasps. “Therrien hates me, I’m such a huge fuck-up.”

“Hey, no you’re not,” Carey’s voice is delicate, word’s gingerly filtering into the air. “You’re gonna be perfect. You’re gonna be incredible. You don’t need me there with you.”

“I want you with me...” He curled his fingers tightly into the front of Carey’s sweater, his nose pressing hard into the crook of his neck

“I know, I don’t want you to go either I— it just happened. I’m so sorry.”

“Please don’t apologize, shit, you didn’t do anything,” he speaks through shuddered breaths, lips parted as he lets his eyes flutter shut. “Promise we’ll stay in touch?”

“Yes, holy shit, always. You’re my best friend PK, I don’t wanna lose you.” Carey swore, it was a promise he’d never break — wouldn’t dare to break. 

They stay frozen like that, the only sounds in the air of PK’s heavy breathing and Carey’s hand stroking the cloth on his back. They’d still be in Montreal together for a while. He knows they will. It just feels like PK’s unattached from him.

“Can we get out of here? Do something to get our minds off of this? I’ll take you out for margaritas and buy you flowers or something so we can just make the best of what we have.” There’s a tiny curve in his lips as he offers it and Carey reaches out to swipe a tear off his cheek. It’s... bothering him.

“You know, where I’m from we call that a date.”

“No ones from where you’re from,” PK snorts, laughing himself out of his grief. “I guess I’m asking you out then, by Anahim standards.”

Carey cards a hand through his hair and he laughs. “Alright, Casanova, lets do it.”

PK doesn’t know if Carey realizes he’s being serious. It’s one big joke to him, like he’s completely oblivious to the steps PK’s actually trying to take. He wonders when it’ll stop being a game to him, then realizes maybe it’s better this way. Maybe it’s better with their friendship remaining a friendship, like it probably should’ve been from the start.

Yeah, that sounds like a good Plan B.

* * *

PK goes to Nashville and that’s that.

Carey jokes about Bergevin being able to hold a comedy show where he does nothing but talk about his future plans with Montreal and how it’ll probably get people cracking up. Well, if they aren’t crying.

Shea’s a fine guy. He’s no PK Subban but they can live with him.

_Carey: u and fisher lighting it up out there huh??_

_PK: pshhhhh hes no carey price but we’re getting somewhere_

_Carey: miss u lots dude :(_

_PK: ah-lie man tell the gallys i said hi_

_Carey: i’ll try butttttt brendans still not over u calling him chucky_

_PK: lmaooo fuck him he just mad he can’t play baseball as well as me_

_Carey: all right babe ruth let’s not get too ahead of ourselves >:)_

_PK: :,)_

Even reading their texts and realizing he can’t actually see Carey face-to-face is brutal. Because they‘re over a thousand miles apart and that long distance friendship thing /hurt/ when only last season you two were right within arm’s reach of each other always.

Now all PK can do is live his life, fall asleep, dream of him, wake up, and do nothing about it. 

/It/ as in that thing in the back of his head, bugging him with no signs of stopping. Bugging him about the way Carey talks, how he looks at him, his smile, his confidence, his caring eyes, everything. He sees it all, crystal clear in his head. But at the same time, he can’t see anything.

* * *

PK’s in his car, about to drive back home from a practice when his phone buzzes by his side. He picks it up and— fuck. 

_Sid: its time for u to confess ur feelings._

PK furrows his brows at the screen. Out of all the nights he could’ve been bothered about this — he’d probably choose to never be bothered about it — but now was not a good time to talk about it. He makes a mental note to block Sid the second he gets a chance.

_PK: dude never_

_Sid: okay ur being a little bitch_

_PK: duDE WTF_

_Sid: im literally trying to h e l p u and ur acting like a pansy_

_He doesn’t type back a response._

_Sid: subby how long have u been crushing on this guy_

_PK: none yo bidness_

_Sid: >:(_

_PK: like 5 days_

_Sid: Lyon piece of shit_

_Sid: fuck *lying_

_PK: come back to me when u learn how to type_

_Sid: okay inspiration time. me and geno have like this thing............._

He leaves it at that and PK’s left staring awkwardly at the screen.

_PK: what thing???_

_PK: sid_

_PK: yOU CANT JUST SAY THAT AND LEAVE ME ON SEEN U FUCKSHIT_

_Sid: u can’t tell anyone about this and as far as i know muzz was the only guy who was snoopy enough to catch us_

_PK: i swear on the habs lol_

_Sid: fuck u_

_Sid: after games sometimes.... SOMETIMES me and geno take our leftover adrenaline out on like each other in the locker rooms_

_PK: oh my fuckign god........ no way like as in ?????_

_Sid: y e s ;)))_

_PK: ew poor matt_

_Sid: morale of the story is talk to pricer and u can live this life too_

_PK: no gross_

_Sid: pls tell pricer omfg im begging u_

_PK: we’ll see_

_Sid: IM TRUSTING U WITH MY LIFE HERE_

_PK: I said WE’LL SEE_

Sidney Crosby is an annoying piece of shit with surprisingly good relationship advice, PK concludes.

* * *

Sidney Crosby is also a fairly good wingman. However, PK’s not too aware of that aspect of him.

_Sid: sup daddy_

_Carey: ???_

_Sid: oh shit wrong number_

_Carey: k???_

_Sid: oh wait wait wait can we pls talk for like 2 seconds_

_Carey: tf do u want_

_Sid: ur single right?_

_Carey: okay im leaving_

_Sid: nO wait I’m asking for a friend_

_Carey: sure u are_

_Sid: im asking for a certain dark chocolate fellow who is insanely interested in u ;)_

_Carey: im actually leaving this time_

_Sid: WAIT_

_Sid: :(_

_Carey: are u talking about wayne bc patches is scared to death of that guy_

_Sid: noooo ;;)))_

_Carey: im straight_

_Sid: u didn’t say that earlier_

_Carey: bye_

_Sid: I’m talking about a real cougar ;)_

Unfortunately for Sid, the Predator’s logo is a sabre-toothed tiger and not a cougar.

_Carey: pls refrain from texting me ever again thanks_

_Sid: WAIT_

_Sid: it’s pk_

_Sid: jk_

_Sid: no I’m srs_

_Sid: pricer :(_

Carey stares at the phone screen, eyes wide and mouth agape. He’s finding it hard to take Sid seriously because he’s well, he’s /Sid/. Not to mention, he’s hearing this second hand as well which — he knows from experience — isn’t the most reliable source on the face of the earth. So, he has his suspicions. 

Besides, this is PK they’re talking about. 

The same guy that’ll flirt with just about any gal he sees, the guy that‘s pretty much his best friend, the /guy/ that never talks about anyone but /girls/. But, then again Carey would be lying if he said he hasn’t caught him staring more than a couple times, but he‘d made it up to believe it was just him getting lost in thought — now, he’s got a vague idea of what those thoughts could’ve been. 

Carey can’t be into PK like that — he could’ve been, maybe he was at one point. But, he was younger then. He wants something serious. PK’s a great guy and a real piece of eye candy but — fuck, whose he kidding.

This is /PK/ they’re talking about.

* * *

The next time Carey sees PK is after a win in Nashville. 

PK doesn’t look as sullen as he usually does after a loss, probably because he gets to see Carey after months of separation. It’s not as though they were utterly apart — they did talk, yeah, but not as much as of recent months. PK blames it on hockey, but he’s just assuming. Carey doesn’t mention it.

“Great work, bud; you showed ‘em,” he started, smiling ruefully.

Carey rolls his eyes, PK misses seeing that wry look on his face. “That’s the best conversation starter you got?” They walk side-by-side down the large hallway, but Carey’s far enough that their arms don’t brush. “After all these years, really Subby?”

“Hey,” he shrugs, “you gotta do what you gotta do.” There’s a dry laugh from Carey and the silence falls heavy around them once more. PK can practically feel the weight on his chest. “Look...” he starts again, more slowly this time. “I don’t know how this even got around, but Sid’s been telling me that he told you—“

“Yeah. He did,” Carey interjects, a particularly obnoxious exchange of text messages flooding through his head. He stops in his tracks and PK looks back at him, a puzzled look on his face. “Wait, can we discuss this. Seriously? Just for a minute.”

“I— I didn’t think it was that serious,“ PK’s voice falls flat. His hand goes to touch the back of his neck and wary eyes watch as Carey’s gaze drops to the right — like it always does when he’s worried... why was he worried?

Carey exhaled slowly. “I don’t mind it, really. I mean, it doesn’t bug me.”

“Huh?”

“Fuck—“ he desperately backtracks. He’s trying hard, but he can’t get his thoughts out, not like he means them. “We can see where it goes and maybe, y’know...”

PK mouths something while Carey’s talking and it looks a lot like “what the hell”. He forces out a chuckle. “Don’t you think you’re blowing this out of proportion?”

He sputters, his disposition turning sour. “Dude, how do you think I’m gonna react when someone tells me my best friend has a crush on me?”

Oh. _Oh._

__So this /wasn’t/ about Sid being a childhood Canadiens fan._ _

__Well, he’s read this wrong, hasn’t he?_ _

__PK’s dumbstruck. How did — when did Sid talk to Carey about... His stomach turns to ice and his features go hot, his entire being feels like it’s been robbed of energy and he’s suddenly racked with stress. Sid’s probably the last thing on his mind right now, but PK knows he’s gonna choke the son of a bitch the next time he lays eyes on him._ _

__“Sid? He told you?” PK wants to revert to “he’s a fucking liar” or “just kidding, happy april fools” but it’s too late for that now. Carey’s face is a mess of emotions and it’s frustratingly incoherent. He’s fucked. So fucked. He knew he was the moment Carey told him— “‘We can see where it goes’... what did you mean by that?_ _

__He debates his word choice carefully. “I wanna try us out. I wasn’t sure I swung that way but... you’re pretty persuasive.” Carey bites back a grin. “Think about it.”_ _

__“I’m thinking.”_ _

__“And?”_ _

__PK surges forward and he’s got Carey around the waist. He lets out a small sound of shock, but the surprise melts away when his own arms wrap around PK. “We can make this work,” he whispers calmly into his ear, suppressing years of anticipation for this moment back down his throat._ _

__“I like the sound of that.” When they’ve relapsed out of the embrace, Carey’s features are an endearing rose. “So, uh, is this the part where we kiss?” As many witty responses as PK can conjure, he voices none. Instead he scoffs and dips in._ _

__They kiss._ _

__They kiss and the world around them crumbles to dust. It’s soft, slow, and comforting in ways that are indescribable. PK’s hand settles below Carey’s ear, softly caressing his cheek with his thumb — savouring the delicate touch that brushes past his chest to trail down his spine. They can feel each other’s beating hearts and their minds no longer linger on the past, only entangled in the /now/._ _

__PK pulls back, but he doesn’t go far. His forehead still touches Carey’s, close enough that their breaths are mingled. “Thank you...” his voice is low, wavering._ _

__“For what?” Carey’s matches in tone._ _

__“For being you.”_ _

__“Holy dick!” A familiar voice yells from down the hallway — it’s Brendan. Good god. PK groans, virtually peeling himself off of Carey as he sends an ornery glare his way. He’s howling with laughter at this point. “I fucking called it, everyone owes me so much goddamn money!”_ _

__“Gally!”_ _

__Brendan bolts down the turn in the hallway and PK’s about to hunt him down when he’s halted by Carey’s arm. “It doesn’t matter, Subby. It’s /Gally/. How much damage can he do?”_ _

__“Guy’s got half a brain,” he agrees. PK pushes back his hair, giving him a chaste peck to the forehead. “You’re great, Carey.”_ _

__He smiles. “I think you’re pretty great, too.”_ _

__It’s their substitute for “I love you” and it works pretty well. For now._ _


End file.
